On the Edge
by tectrices
Summary: Teetering on the edge of Sunday and Monday, predetention and postdetention school days, Allison reflects: on midnight, friends, and whether or not she'd ever speak to Andy again.


**Disclaimer**: Nope, don't own the movie The Breakfast Club, though it would be flipping AWESOME if I did. 

**A/N:** Well. Here we go! I had trouble thinking of a good title, so the one I stuck on this will have to do. It was fun getting in Allison's head, and I tried to stay as true to the character as I could. That being said, read and enjoy everyone!

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The clock read 11:59. Still Sunday. 

Allison sighed, and flipped over onto her stomach. She threw her sketchbook onto the floor, finally tired of having to strain her eyes in the darkness. The lightbulb in her desk lamp had burned out two days ago, and she still hadn't gotten a new one. She had left a note on the refrigerator, conveniently noting the absence of lightbulbs, but if her parents had since purchased any they hadn't bothered telling her about it. That was usually the case, anyway.

She was still staring at the clock.

_12:00_. In the morning.

Midnight.

She sighed, and shook her head violently.

_Sunday, Sunday, Monday, Monday._

Allison was never sure just what day it was, teetering there on midnight, the edge of night and day. Monday and Sunday. Sunday and Monday. She never had been able to come to an acceptable conclusion, but she thought about it anyway.

Things were too complicated when one tried to make sense of them.

Her thick, brown and black– no, it was her new one, grey and green– comforter was piled up all around her, making a nest she could curl up in. She tore her gaze away from the glowing numbers of her clock, staring instead at her blank, dirty-white walls. She had decided they'd be better blue.

Blue was a nice color. Perhaps not quite as consuming and swallowing– and _deep_– as black, but it was... It was nice.

Allison didn't have much experience with nice.

But Saturday had been nice. She wasn't ready for Monday. She knew that she'd just be invisible again; not, of course, that she had even bothered to think about it.

Well...

Maybe Andy.

She didn't mind thinking about Andy.

But it wasn't Saturday anymore. She glanced back at the clock.

_12:01._

It wasn't even Sunday anymore. She sighed unhappily, grabbing a pillow and pulling it to her. At least she could remember detention. One day was better than nothing, right? It would be just like the world to give her a taste of what she didn't have, then snatch it back and leave her aching for more. She had that kind of luck, anyway.

But it was Monday.

Brian would be nice, at least. Brian was nearly as much of an outcast as she was. Except, of course, he wasn't scenery. He had friends; he got noticed. Even if it was just an idiot-jock wanting to throw him in the trash cans, he got some acknowledgment. Allison was really starting to believe that negative was better than nothing.

And Claire... Well, she wasn't counting on Claire for more than a smile. Maybe a nod. Maybe nothing. Eye contact would be nice, though. Yes, Claire would _see_ her if nothing else.

She almost snorted with laughter as she thought about John. She didn't expect much from him either, but that probably meant that he would surprise her. He might ask for his knife back, if he realized she had taken the thing. It didn't really matter if he remembered her name, though; he would, of course, but since she knew his name she didn't care about much else. If Claire was around, though, she was almost certain he'd greet her with open arms.

John and Claire were incomparable adorable.

She flopped around onto her back, and crawled under the covers. She'd bet anything– even that porcelain elephant she kept in the back of her closet– that those two would have _something_ together. If not a relationship, then at least a really enormous public fight. She hoped she'd be there for it: better than TV.

The Breakfast Club was something special, that was for sure. Dysfunctional perhaps, unlikely as hell, but definitely special. Allison grinned; and she was the basketcase. A place of honor if ever there was one.

Briefly– noting that it was now 12:05– she wondered if Andy would remember it as fondly as she did. She hoped he'd let her keep the patch she had ripped off; hell, she was hoping he'd even remember her! If he talked her at all, even if it was to demand that she returned it, she'd be ecstatic. He seemed like a good guy, certainly, but she didn't know what Monday would bring.

Monday.

It _was _Monday!

She shook her head again, trying to clear out all the thoughts. Yes, she'd definitely have to re-do her walls; blue was a _nice_ color. And more importantly of course, blue reminded her of Andy. She grinned, sharing a secret with herself as she thought of that. He'd probably think she was crazy– oh, _crazier_– if he ever found out. She half hoped he would find out, just so he'd be forced to think about her again.

Allison closed her eyes, and decided it was time to go to sleep. Andrew Clarke could wait until Mon– Until the morning. He was handsome; he was a good kisser. And he was just as bizarre as she was. Maybe he'd remember.

She let herself think that, just hoping that he'd wave or smile.

Or waltz up and dip her down into the fieriest embrace Shermer had ever seen.

Something like that.

Midnight crossed her mind again, just for a moment. And after years of searching for an answer, she finally made a decision. Definitely Monday. Not Sunday. Future, not the past.

She yawned, not quite asleep. Maybe she'd come to a wrestling meet– depending on how long he stayed on the team. Or maybe she'd draw– she could already picture Super-Andy, tights and all.

Allison smiled. She didn't mind; she had always wanted a hero anyway.

And Saturday was gone. But that was fine. She had friends. Four of them, and that was what mattered. She yawned again. Time to sleep.

And wherever he was and whatever happened at school, she liked Andy whether he could think for himself or not. And that was enough.

Finally drifting off to sleep, Allison smiled.

For the first time-- in a long time-- it was good to be the basketcase.

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End A/N: BAM! Man, that felt good to write! Heh heh heh. Anyway, just a one-shot because I couldn't get the scene out of my head. I'd really appreciate reviews; thank you! 


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